Robin Williams died yesterday. He killed himself. He was a great actor and a truly brilliant comedian. The word genius has been used repeatedly to describe him and I cannot find too many people who disagree. In all the tributes that have poured in since the news hit, the people who have worked with him or were his friends have talked about a man who was generous, kind and warm.
And all I can think of is the line from Associated Press that says that he had been depressed for a long time. Like those celebrities and reality TV starlets who will visit and orphanage and drone on about how 'devastating' or 'difficult' it was for THEM to see all these poor, abandoned children, I have made another man's illness and death about myself.
Because what I'm really thinking when I read the line is "Please don't let this happen to me". I can't imagine Robin Williams' life or his illness. He publicly battled addiction and I can't speak to that experience at all. He probably had incredibly high highs and terribly low lows. But I do know what it's like to wake up every morning with the thought of ending it all.
I've been in the throes of depression now for almost two years. Every time I think that the end is in sight, that my spirits have lifted, that the fog is clearing, it slams back into me with force. I've always been a touch suicidal, but during my bouts of depression, there is an overwhelming urge to kill myself. I have to actively fight this urge every single day, sometimes every single moment.
So when I think of Robin Williams now, I am picturing how relieved he must have been when he finally decided to give in and stop fighting. That is what scares me. I am afraid that I will soon be too exhausted, too fried, to be able to continue listening to my better self.
What a self-involved person I am, to turn someone else's story into a moment of self doubt and introspection.
